


Ultranormal

by Portponky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Car Sex, Crack, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, M/M, Sexy, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portponky/pseuds/Portponky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of every dusty road, there are baddies and demons. Sometimes the biggest demons live inside ourselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ultranormal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prideofportree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prideofportree/gifts).



Dean Winchester was having a really normal day, which for someone as gruff and manly as him would be a really bad day by a normal person's standard. Earlier on they had infiltrated a leather convention and taken out a demon supplying haunted assless chaps to male-only establishments all over the state of North Kentucky. After spending six hours immersed in testosterone and man-sweat, he'd found himself notably aroused and was rolling around on his motel room bed.

Sam was unable to sleep with the racket of Dean thrashing around. "Shut your god damn cock," he yelled, "it's ten p.m., well past our bed time."

Dean was in a fever, thrashing around so hard that he destroyed his bed. Castiel crawled out from under the rubble and debris of the bed, dusted himself off and started to rotate. Sam tried to walk over to the smouldering remains of Dean's bed but he clipped his head on the ceiling fan. "Nooo, my beautiful hair!" he cried.

After using a fire extinguisher to quell the flames around the bed wreckage, Dean turned around to face Sam. "Once again, we'll have to share a bed."

Sam instantly agreed, wiping away the broken fan blades from his lucious side-mop of hair. "It'll be just like the last time you trashed a motel room and we had to share a bed snuggling all night."

"Yes, I remember that, Sam" said Dean, "it feels like it was only yesterday, Sam, because it was."

Sean and Dan jumped in to bed together whilst Castiel practised his Smooth Criminal lean in the corner. He loved to watch Dean sleep but he hated watching Sam sleep so watching them both snuggle was like eating a sandwich made of love and hate. He wished that his his boner was as invisible as his wings, so that only the shadow was visible. Then he could hide it by holding a footlong subway sandwich and claiming it was just a sandwich shadow. He took out his notebook from his trenchcoat and wrote "I don't understand sandwiches" then turned the lights out because it was truly bed time.

* * *

Dean woke with an explosion and immediately brushed his teeth with a whiskey coated fork, because he is so manly. Sam started gathering his hair products in time for his morning beauty treatments. Whilst he was pampering his pompadoo, Dean switched on the television set to check for mysterious activity. There was a quirky story about strange flying cylindrical ships abducting people at night. "Damn," said Dean, "must be Al Qaeda again."

After Sam had finished ironing his hair, the group systematically set fire to the motel room and left in Dean's car, a vintage Motorola Impaler. When it hit the open road, Dean felt truly at peace, like he was a part of the car. It was just him, his wheels and a steering wheel steering himself down the road, like a duck on wheels. He turned to look at Sam, who was looking in the mirror to observe his own hair gracefully swaying in the wind just like the wings of a swan in flight. Castiel was standing in the back seat. He pulled out his notebook and wrote "I need to research bird metaphors."

They cruised for miles and miles and, in metric, kilometers along the open highway. Eventually they reached West Dakota, the state at the epicenter, or in British, epicentre of the recent Al Qaeda activity. They parked in the middle of the highway and got out of Dean's car, a vintage Motorola Impaler. A tumbleweed rolled past. They stood slightly apart facing at different angles, so there would be a good shot for the DVD and Bluray box sets of this adventure. "I've got a supernatural feeling about this," said Dean, for the trailer.

They arrived at a dusty motel off the highway outside Dakotasville at half past nine, only half an hour before true bed time. They quickly checked in to a room with two single beds. They walked in to their room and the lights flickered on. Dean destroyed his bed with one swipe of his beast-like arms. They changed in to their jimjams and dived under the bedsheets, Dean and Sam sharing again. They soon drifted off to sleep, snuggling together, whilst Castiel stood in the corner working on his cosplay of Jimmy McNulty.

* * *

The night was not all dark. At the gregarious hour of eleven o'clock, long after even the scorpions had fallen asleep, a deep humming sound began emanating from the sky. Swoopy lights started shining through the motel room window. Castiel, who was standing around playing Angry Birds, immediately noticed something was penisish about the situation.

"Heeey," he whispered to wake up Daniel and Samiel, "ppsst, heeeeyyy, wake up you guys."

They didn't stir, so Castiel waited for a while and tried again. It took him six more attempts before Dean stirred and woke up with an explosion. "Oh no," he yelled, "Al Qaeda is attacking! How long has this been going on for?"

"About twenty minutes," said Castiel, looked down at his angelic feet with an overwhelming sense of shame and failure.

"Damn," exalted Dean and gently rubbed his hands over Sam's exposed and well chiselled pectoral muscles, "wake up hunky bro," he said tenderly and then he heterosexually explained that this is the only way to wake Sam up as he's such a deep sleeper.

Sam aroused on the double. "What's up, top bro?" he said, wiping his crotch off, "Oh, by the way, I think we're being attack by Al Qaeda."

Dean put his jimjammies back on, and carefully explained he had no idea how they had fallen off. Sam also put his jamminies back on. They picked up their Glock .45 Magnums, loaded with mercury tipped bullets and Remmington .45 crossbows, loaded with salt tipped bolts, and their Smith & Wesson .45 Surface to Ground Anti-Aircraft missile platform, loaded with holy water tipped thermonuclear warheads. They were ready to fight Al Qaeda, so they marched outside.

In the parking lot, a giant cylindrical metal cylinder floated in the sky with a billion windows on every side. Flashing disco lights were spinning out of every part of it. A giant beam of music and sound plopped out the bottom and some shadowy figures emerged from it, silhouetted at first so our heroes couldn't quite tell if they were Al Qaeda. When they came in to focus they were four foot tall, green and wearing space suits.

They spoke directly in to everyone's minds using psychic energy beams, "We are explorers from the Elurian Consortium, we come in peace for the benefit of lifeforms everywhere."

"Too bad I don't believe you," scoffed Dean.

"Yeah," Sam piped in, "Dean's an atheist. He doesn't even believe in Castiel." Castiel looked sad.

"Yeah," said Dean, folding his arms in smug authority, "now take me to your leader, Alan Qaeda."

The Elurians backed the fuck up. This wasn't quite what they had in mind. They mind-beamed "Look, maybe we caught you at a bad time. Can you suggest a time at which we can call again which might be more appropriate? We're available Monday to Saturday from nine a.m. to midnight."

Dean didn't even hesitate. He pulled his Glock out and unloaded, killing the entire Elurian delegation. Sam piloted their missile platform, but before he could fire, the cylinder collapsed in to bogospace. Despite the fact they had vanished, their mind-beams were still active. "Are you the owners of this planet? May we speak to the owners?" Dean screamed at the sky, firing his gun in to it to teach it a lesson.

Castiel pulled Dean's pants down. "Stop, God damn it, you gorgeous moron. We could have established a dialogue with them, we could have infiltrated their organisation and destroyed them from the inside."

Dean's eyes moved around to show the audience he was having a moment of sudden realisation. "Damn," he surmised, "we've got to show them that this was just a sexy misunderstanding. We've got to show them that we're capable only of love."

"I have an idea," said Castiel, slowly quickly removing all of his clothes, "take me, sexually"

"What," said Dean, not as a question, just as a statement of confusion and interest.

"It's the only way. Teach me about your warm, footlong-sandwich sized cock. And as you're boning me, you can be teaching me about boning me, and at the same time we'll teach Al Qaeda, and they'll see that love is all you need. Put your stonking great big schlong in my angelic bummer."

Dean was extremely suspicious. "I dunno, I'm strictly a hetero guy," he said, taking his shirt off, "I've got a string of broken, failed relationships a mile long. My one night stands come by so fast I can't even get erect. I get so many women throwing themselves at me that I have to reject one hundred percent of them with flimsy excuses. I'm so comfortable in my heterosexuality I could probably, just, I don't know, make aching, sweaty love to a man for hours just to infiltrate Al Qaeda and send them back to Japan."

Before he'd even finished speaking he was right inside Castiel. He pumped away, as Castiel moaned and bit his lip. Dean started firing a machine gun in to the sky and screamed with primal joy. Sam ran to get Dean's car, a vintage Motorola Impaler. He revved it up and quickly ran over Dean and Castiel.

Dean, covered in tire tracks and battered from being run over, and also still boning Castiel like a jackhammer, looked up at Sam. "How did you know my secret fetish?"

* * *

The next day, they were all on the open road again, finding their next adventure. Sam was reading a newspaper. The front page headline read 'Sex Mad Meth Heads Defeat Al Qaeda', so it seemed that they were not the only ones who had a run in with them last night. Castiel was standing in the back seat, the wind blowing his trenchcoat around in the most stylish manner. "Hey Casteroil," said Sam, "you can sit down."

"No," said Castiel, "no I can't."


End file.
